


A Kind Of Magic

by aintgonnaleaveyoumikey



Category: Grand Theft Auto Series (Video Games), Grand Theft Auto V
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - Different First Meeting, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, First Meetings, Flirting, M/M, Michael is not repressed and only a bit depressed, Michael works at a coffee shop, They are young in 2013, Trevor is an art student and potentially a hipster, canon-typical dislike of hipsters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-12
Updated: 2020-12-12
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:09:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,310
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28017510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aintgonnaleaveyoumikey/pseuds/aintgonnaleaveyoumikey
Summary: Michael had worked at the coffee shop for six months, and he had hated every single minute of it.
Relationships: Michael De Santa/Trevor Philips
Comments: 16
Kudos: 39





	A Kind Of Magic

Michael had worked at the coffee shop for six months, and he had hated every single minute of it. 

But it had only gotten worse when the pretentious, beanie-wearing, hipster art students found the place. "This place is so much cozier than Bean Machine!" they claimed and crowded the way too small space so that it was nowhere near cozy anymore. 

In the mornings, they ordered their soy milk lattes to go; in the afternoons, they sat around for hours, talking about artists that Michael had never heard of and books that he would never have the time or patience to read. 

He hated them with a burning passion, and only slightly because he was jealous of them having a tight-knit group of friends and something meaningful to do with their lives. Sure, their future plans might have been grandiose, but at least they were doing something to achieve those dreams. Unlike Michael who only had two failed careers at the age of 23, a shitty job, and an even shittier home. 

But the first time Michael saw _him_ — or more like stared at him in pure fascination — he couldn't hate the man even though he was with _them_. 

The man eyed the coffee menu on the wall, a small frown on his lips. He had been at the very end of the long line, so he did already have time to think about his order, but apparently not enough. Michael didn't mind: his coworker, Molly, was working on orders. He just had to wait for this one, and there was no line after the man. It was almost like getting to have an actual break during his shift for once. 

It also gave him time to examine the captivating sight in front of him. The man was taller and slimmer than Michael. He was wearing jeans and an old, worn denim jacket that looked like it came straight from the '80s — and so did his mullet and Freddie Mercury mustache. It should have been impossible to make the look work in 2013, but he managed.

No, he didn't just manage. _A Kind Of Magic_ started playing in Michael's head because it seemed effortless, truly fucking magical like the style belonged to him and only him even when Michael was hit with a wave of nostalgia, having seen something like this in hundreds of old movies and music videos. But never in real life, never anything quite like him.

Michael was brought back to reality when the man's friend, a redhead who had already ordered, complained, "Oh my god, you're so slow!" She was part of the hipster gang that always hung around; Michael wondered why the man had never been around before when his friends basically lived there. 

"Jesus Christ, just go sit down, and I'll join you. I swear I won't get lost on the way," the man scoffed and rolled his eyes. 

The woman showed him her tongue before prancing to the table. He went back to reading the list and sighed. "I don't even really like coffee," he murmured and turned his gaze to Michael. 

Their eyes met and Michael felt like he could sink into those brown eyes, and it didn't help when the man gave him a confident, gorgeous smile. Michael saw the man's gaze drop to his lips for a small second, so obviously he did the same, and Jesus, they looked good. Kissable. _Shit._ Maybe—

"... Wait, what?" Michael asked, furrowing his brow as the man's words finally registered in his head. _Get yourself together, man._

"I said, I don't like coffee." He leaned against the counter, his smile now slightly playful. Michael noticed a slight Canadian accent in his voice.

"You're at a coffee shop," Michael pointed out, the corners of his mouth pulling up as well. 

The man hummed. “Yeah, because we got a fucking group project, and _they_ ,” he lowered his voice, so Michael leaned closer as if they were sharing a secret; the man discreetly pointed his thumb at his friends behind him, “are always flocking around here."

Michael just had time to snort out a laugh. 

"I didn’t get it until now,” the man murmured and gave Michael a wink. 

A fucking _wink_. There was no way he was straight, not that there had been much doubt with that style — but Michael always wanted to be sure. He was just a lot more cautious when he was hitting on guys. Not that he couldn't defend himself if things went south, but things were usually just a lot simpler with chicks.

Michael's small smile turned into a whole ass grin, even if he felt a bit flushed and was more aware of his ridiculous work outfit, especially the fucking apron. “Because we have the best coffee?” He tried to keep his voice steady.

The man leaned on his hand and gave Michael a small fake pout, a twinkle in his eye. “But I already told you I don’t like coffee.”

“We also got tea,” Michael continued the banter, nodding at the menu, but the brown eyes never left his. God, they were stunning, just like the man himself.

“Nah, not really into tea either. You got any beer?” He grinned.

“... You’re still at a coffee shop,” Michael deadpanned. The man laughed, making Michael’s heart jump wildly. _Oh, Jesus._

“Right, right. Any idea where to find some, then?”

The invite was unspoken but obvious. They stared at each other, and Michael was just about to ask him for a beer after his shift — but at that moment, Molly walked past them with a tray full of coffee cups and gave Michael a murderous glare.

He averted his gaze from her quickly. Right, work. “You should order something before she kills me for slacking off,” Michael murmured with an apologetic smile. 

The man stood up straight, the moment gone. He still smiled as he glanced at Michael’s coworker, who was taking the coffees to his friends. "Eh, just gimme one of the hipster coffees they drink. Wouldn't wanna get you in trouble." 

"One _hipster coffee_ coming up. As if that's not all the drinks we make," Michael chuckled. "You want latte art and all that?” 

The man snorted. “Sure, draw me a dick or something.” He took out his wallet and handed a bunch of one-dollar bills to Michael. 

Michael grinned widely in response, taking the bills. “Sure, man. I’ll bring it over to you.”

He absolutely hated latte art and was far from artistic, but the years he spent drawing dicks on any available surface in high school had paid off. He tried to keep a straight face as he handed the man his drink. “There you go,” Michael said, looking into his eyes, and walked away before he had time to see the cup.

Based on the wild cackle he heard when he walked away, his art, even if it was simple, was appreciated. 

Michael expected the man to approach him before leaving — there was no way in hell that Michael was asking him out in front of the whole group. He spent a few hours ogling at the man to the extent that even Molly, who very rarely showed any positive emotions towards Michael, smiled at him. Granted, it was more of a _you-are-an-absolute-idiot-and-should-get-to-work_ smile, but Michael considered it a win with her.

He couldn't help but feel disappointed when The Hipsters and The Gorgeous Man stopped working and he left with them, only giving Michael a nod and another wink.

But when he went to clean the table, he found indisputable proof that his art was appreciated. Under the man's cup, there was a piece of paper with a sketch of the latte art Michael had made him — and it was good, too — and more importantly, a phone number and the letter _T_ written with messy handwriting.

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know what I'm doing but I do know that this could have a part 2 if I just pull myself together and write it. :D
> 
> Title is obviously from the Queen song. 
> 
> [My Tumblr](https://nevergonnasimpyoumikey.tumblr.com/)


End file.
